


The Distraction of Sexting

by SStar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Sexting, Sibling Incest, Snark, Suit Porn, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SStar/pseuds/SStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the sherlockbbc_fic kink meme prompt: Mycroft/Sherlock, phonesex. Maybe Mycroft is in a boring meeting and texts Sherlock... or Sherlock is bored out of his mind and starts harassing his brother over the phone...</p><p>Mycroft's day had started so well. That is, until Sherlock texts him and asks him what he's wearing. And more. All the while he's sitting in a meeting room discussing what must be something very important, if only he was paying attention to the conversation rather than replying back to Sherlock's increasingly naughty messages.</p><p>A smidge of sexting, snarking and sexy stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distraction of Sexting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: all characters belong to ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. I own nothing but my own filthy mind.
> 
> Unbeta'd, mostly unedited - all mistakes are my very own.  
> Text messages are in italics.

_What are you wearing? SH_

_Pardon? M_

_I rather thought the question is simple enough unless being the British Government has finally addled your mind. SH_

_Charming as always, brother dear. I might remind you that you catch more flies with honey. M_

_Buzz buzz buzzkill. So what are you wearing?_

_Pink lace panties. M_

_John would like to know what you said that made me spit my tea over all over him. SH_

_Oh dear. You should treat your good doctor better. M_

_He gets hazard pay. SH_

_Ah, I see. Hazard pay is code for having to put up with your lovely personality. M_

_You’re somewhat snippier than normal – are you on a diet again? SH_

_No. A certain someone just interrupted me and asked what I was wearing. I am in a meeting! M_

_An important one? With who? SH_

_With Mallory and other people who don’t interest you whatsoever. Don’t you have a case?_

_No – all of London’s criminal class appear to be on strike. It’s tremendously inconsiderate of them really. SH_

_Indeed._

_Why don’t you come over and provide a distraction? SH_

_Some of us must attend to the day-to-day grind of work. M_

_I’m sure I can provide appropriate levels of grinding if that’s what you’re after! SH_

_Don’t tease. I’m in a very serious meeting. M_

_Oh please. You get pouty when you don’t find yourself involved in an international war in some way once a month. SH_

_And do you refer to yourself as a brat when you don’t have a case then, brother dear?_

_Oh don’t deny you like me bratty! SH_

_You get bratty intentionally so I’ll top. Not always intentionally either, just your natural charm. M_

_I’m all about efficiency. Why don’t you come over and I’ll show you how good I can be instead? SH_

_I have meetings. National importance, security of the nation, et cetera. M_

_Boring. I know you’d rather be anywhere but given you’ve spent the last hour texting me. SH_

_You started it. And can’t John amuse you? M_

_Are you sure about that? [Photo attached] SH_

_[MMS received] Good lord, Sherlock. It’s the middle of the day and I’m in the middle of a meeting! And no. You know I don’t share. M_

_So what are you wearing? SH_

_Why does it matter?_

_So I can picture you, all prim and proper in one of your bespoke suits as I stroke myself off, perhaps even get some on your suit. SH_

_Filthy boy. M_

_Would definitely have to send my own to the cleaners but then that wouldn’t be the first time would it? I know how you like my come splattered over my purple shirt. SH_

_You must stop. M_

_Don’t be so dull. What can you deduce so far? SH_

_You’re on your bed, fully clothed. Almost presentable if it wasn’t for the unzipped trousers. You’re not wearing your shoes or socks though. M_

_Don’t forget about my fingers wrapped around my cock. How’d you know I was barefoot? SH_

_Only dullards wear shoes in bed. M_

_What else? SH_

_No underwear. You planned this._

_I thought about visiting the Diogenes today. SH_

_Do stop hacking into my diary; you know it only serves to make Andrea annoyed with you and by extension, me. There are easier ways of finding out where and what I’m doing. M_

_I wish it was your hands on my cock right now. I can never do that thing you do with your wrist quite as well._

_It’s all about the angles, my dear and thus I prefer your hand to mine. We should stop this now. M_

_It’s just getting interesting. What if I wasn’t here in my own bedroom but in whatever underground meeting room you’ve ensconced yourself in? SH_

_I’d probably have to shoot all the other people in the room, who dared to look at you, which I imagine would have rather dire consequences. M_

_Jealous becomes you, Mycroft. You have that glint in your eye, my most dangerous man. I remember the last time; you bit and sucked a trail of bruises down my neck and shoulder as you fucked me._

_Oh god, Sherlock! You must stop - how would I explain why I’m hard? It’s inappropriate!_

_It’s not the worst of our sins, brother mine. Surely the table will protect your dignity. SH_

_Perhaps now but what do I do when I leave? M_

_Are you begging me to stop – to not fuck myself into my fist or play with my balls?_

_[…]_

_You should see my cock now; it’s full and heavy against my body. My fingers glide over the wet tip._

_[…]_

_Have you turned your phone off? I’ve never known you to back down before. SH_

_[…]_

_I could carry on like this, touching myself, pretend I’m rubbing up against you in your pristine suit. Your silk tie would be utterly sinful against my cock._

_[…]_

_In contrast, your suit would feel coarser against my cock. I’d want to rub myself against it, against you, harder and faster._

_[…]_

_Do stop ignoring me. I could do this for hours, edging. Can you imagine how I’d look taking myself to the brisk of orgasm again and again?_

_You wouldn’t last that long if I were there. M_

_How?_

_I’d pull you onto your knees and pull your suit down. Not fully off. Only as far as your thighs, but enough that I had access to your arse._

_Would you lick me there?_

_No, not this time. You don’t deserve it after I’ve told you to stop sending me these indecent messages._

_[…]_

_Stop sulking. You’d be too busy moaning, wriggling your arse and taking more of my fingers as I prepared you._

_I love your fingers in me. They’ve always been so long and slim, even when you weren’t!_

_That would deserve a sharp slap or two. As an aside, you’ve never moaned about me when you’re cuddling afterwards. You like it._

_I do not cuddle. SH_

_I’m afraid, brother dear, you do. I’ll make sure to have photographic proof if you won’t accept my word. M_

_Try it and die. I accept the consequences. SH_

_Oh hush, my dear. I believe you were fucking yourself on my fingers? You’d be trying to push your delectable arse into my crotch, rubbing against my suit, my hard cock._

_You’d torment me with your fingers I know, pressure in just the right spot to make me groan. Because you love hearing me moan your name again and again._

_I imagine you’d wonder whether you prefer to be debauched in your suit or if you’d pull everything off so you can rub your skin yourself against my suit. I’m not sure I should approve of your desire to soil my suits when we fuck._

_Oh please, don’t deny you prefer me in a suit than denim. Anyway, I don’t just like to sully your suits. SH_

_Of course. How negligent of me to forget the time in my exercise room._

_You were already sweaty and warmed up. It would have been a crime to let the opportunity go to waste._

_I could barely stand._

_You didn’t have to if I recall. The wingback chair was support enough for you. SH_

_I recall we almost broke it. M_

_Dull. Back to me. SH_

_You’re such an attention-whore, little brother. M_

_You’re the one who’s been saying such dirty things as I rubbing myself off. Are you even paying attention to your meeting anymore?_

_I pay attention to the important things, as you well know. M_

_Your minions are too scared of you to say anything about being distracted, what with all your texting. SH_

_I don’t have minions. M_

_Of course you do! Remember, I’ve seen you with those idiots who were elected PM and DPM. And the rest of them. SH_

_Do behave. M_

_You don’t want me to behave, not really. You know how boring it would be without me being just how I am – and you like the challenge. I imagine you have your bland-boring-British-Government face on right now to disguise how turned on you are._

_Are you sure about that? M_

_About what? SH_

_The look on my face? M_

_It’s the only possible outcome since you’re still at that odiously boring meeting with other dullards, unless you’re dead but since you’re still replying I can discount that. SH_

_Perhaps I might suggest you open your door? M_

_[…]_

Sherlock’s breathe hitches and his fingers momentarily tighten around the base of his cock, fighting his body’s auto-reaction to the increase in adrenaline. Only seconds later as he reasserts some control over himself does he scramble off his bed, phone forgotten, taking the two strides to his locked door.

His fingers tremble as he unlocks the door, pulls the handle and in the back of his mind he realises he can hear heavy breathing through the thick wood. Sherlock pulls back to let the door open and he’s both surprised and not surprised to find Mycroft standing there. To be more accurate, arms braced against the doorframe, as if he didn’t he would plough right into Sherlock.

There’s a glint in his brother’s eye, pupils wide with arousal with only a thin band of blue visible and a dangerous curl to his lips. Sherlock answers by licking his lower lip and flicking his eyes down to his erect, wet cock, to Mycroft’s tented trousers and back up.

“You, brother mine, are a fucking tease.”

“I was bored,” Sherlock answers, smirking, even as he takes a step back into his room.

Mycroft crosses the boundary, closing and locking the door all the while facing Sherlock. “Are you bored now?”

Sherlock lifts his chin, a challenge clear in his tone. “Not if you plan on finishing off what you started.”

Mycroft takes another step, two, three until Sherlock’s calves bump against his bed and his brother is pressed to his front. “Why else would I have crashed my diary, be here in your bedroom?”

He balances himself by clinging onto Mycroft’s hips, his brother’s hand traces small circles into his right hip and the other cradles the back of his neck. “Don’t forget to take your shoes off, brother mine,” he murmurs. “Unless you’re willing to prove yourself a dullard.”

His brother moves against him, obviously toeing his shoes off but Sherlock’s distracted as his naked cock rubs against the dark windowpane check pattern of his trousers. He jerks his hips in an attempt to increase the _utterly delightful_ friction of rich fabric against soft skin. Want curls in his stomach when he realises he’s leaving small dots of pre-come on Mycroft’s perfectly pressed trousers and he wonders if his brother will notice.

His brother’s hand on his neck moves up, curling into his dark curls. “So filthy, Sherlock,” he growls before pulling Sherlock into a searing kiss. Sherlock fights back for control of the kiss but before he wins, he feels a pressure on his chest and he’s falling back onto his bed, panting. He can see the _wholly_ _agreeable_ trouser-covered curves of Mycroft’s arse when his suit jacket rides up as he’s bent over so looking for something in the bedside table – _the bottle of lube they kept in there_. “Do get a move on, Mycroft,” he goads.

Bottle now in hand, Mycroft leans over him and Sherlock shivers as his brother’s eyes drag from his flushed face, down his rumpled shirt, his angry red, weeping cock, and back up to his face. “I recall you claimed you could stay like this, not come, for hours, little brother,” he reminds Sherlock. “I’ve cleared the rest of my day to test your hypothesis.”

Sherlock grabs at Mycroft’s patterned grey silk tie that’s dangling so enticingly above him, and pulls. The bottle tumbles to the sheets as his brother falls onto him and Sherlock arches his body to make some contact, any contact. He shivers as his wet cock leaves a trail across the bottom of his brother’s double-breasted waistcoat. Mycroft’s kisses him, light nips alternate with languid strokes of tongue. Presses his body against Sherlock, grinds their hips together.

“You know how I like to experiment,” Sherlock gasps just before Mycroft descends on him once more.


End file.
